Mom update: She’s about the same—perhaps a bit more paranoid. My brother stopped by last night and the meds are all hanging out together in a big bowl, like Halloween candy waiting for trick-or-treaters.
Me update: I’m tired of blogging about my mom (sommayous will be relieved to hear that!). Worrying about her doesn’t do either of us any good. Wishing that things were different leads to the cul-de-sac called Maudlin. So, I’m on the one-day-at-a-time plan, and today is a good day. I’m in Santa Barbara! Specifically, I’m here:
Java Jones on State Street. Image courtesy of SantaBarbara.com.
The Scout is looking at ranches in the area for a John Deere spot. I’m going to sit here, get some work done, then I’m going for a big ole walk. Later, the Scout and I will probably have a drink and perhaps even dinner at Dargan’s (we’ve had fun watching tennis matches there, and the Irish Stew is good enough).
In this season of thanksgiving, my thanks again to you for your good thoughts, kind words, prayers. For joining me in my outrage about our health care system. For understanding how frustrating it is to be in a relationship with someone who is bipolar. For continuing to read during my struggle to describe mania. To Susan for her verbal spa. To Suebob (I waved when we drove through Ventura!) who left a comment pointing me to a post entitled The Crazy Mothers Club over at Godammit I’m Mad. I’m now a member and have almost mastered the secret handshake.
Though I recognize that I’m emotionally exhausted, I’m having a good day. I hope you do the same.
Here we are, alone on a desert, fed dawn to dark, dusk to day
Every morning we wake up. to find just the measure
Of food we need for the way
Oh once we would ask if we could have more
To see that our future survived
But we know now at last, that nothing is sure
Except that at evening the quail will arrive